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Arundhati Roy Quotes about Memories

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Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones - a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A windscreen wiper. A mother's

Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones - a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A windscreen wiper. A mother's marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of darkness veiled. Unremembered.

Arundhati Roy
Mother, Memories, Eye
Arundhati Roy (2002). “The God of Small Things”, p.72, Penguin Books India

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that it purloined. Over the years, as the memory of Sophie Mol ... slowly faded, the Loss of Sophie Mol grew robust and alive. It was always there. Like a fruit in season. Every season. As permanent as a government job.

Arundhati Roy
Jobs, Memories, Loss
Arundhati Roy (2002). “The God of Small Things”, p.16, Penguin Books India

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that is purloined.

Arundhati Roy
Memories, Sometimes, Curious
Arundhati Roy (2002). “The God of Small Things”, p.16, Penguin Books India

Heaven opened and the water hammered down, reviving the reluctant old well, greenmossing the pigless pigsty, carpet bombing still, tea-colored puddles the way memory bombs still, tea-colored minds.

Arundhati Roy
Memories, Water, Heaven

Smells, like music, hold memories. She breathed deep, and bottled it up for posterity.

Arundhati Roy
Memories, Smell, Posterity
Arundhati Roy (2002). “The God of Small Things”, p.99, Penguin Books India

When she looked at herself in her wedding photographs, Ammu felt the woman that looked back at her was someone else. A foolish jewelled bride. Her silk sunset-coloured sari shot with gold. Rings on every finger. White dots of sandalwood paste over her arched eye-brows. Looking at herself like this, Ammu's soft mouth would twist into a small, bitter smile at the memory - not of the wedding itself so much as the fact that she had permitted herself to be so painstakingly decorated before being led to the gallows. It seemed so absurd. So futile. Like polishing firewood.

Arundhati Roy
Memories, Sunset, Eye
Arundhati Roy (2002). “The God of Small Things”, p.43, Penguin Books India

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